Thursday, April 25, 2019

Poetry Police

all photos by PSC

Poetry Police

This poem is a stinker,
a rotter, a lout.
His muse (fed up a week ago) 
done threw the bounder out.

This poem is a scumbag;
he’s a ratfink and a swine.
(Please, forgive me if I whine.)

He’s been on a spree for days
and he’s got me in a funk –
because this poem is a dirtbag,
a blighter, a skunk.
Seven days carousing,
now he’s wholly stinkin’ drunk. 
(I’d like to clout the punk.)

This poem, this weasel,
this dang unlucky schmuck
(who spent the whole week
swigging gin)
has plumb run out of luck.

He had himself a joyride
(fully soused, inebriated)
‘til the cop done pulled him over,
and his license – confiscated!

PSC / 2019-Apr

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